


Salt water tears and sand ridden souls

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcoholic John Winchester, Angst, Fluff, Gen, LGBT, One Shot, SPN - Freeform, Supernatural - Freeform, ay yea, beach, beach angst, is beach angst a thing? it is now, john winchester's absolutely amazing parenting, nice, sand, spn one shot, supernatural one shot, these tags are weird idc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 00:48:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7596808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean doesn't like the beach. He hates it. But yet here he is, at the beach, toes in the sand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salt water tears and sand ridden souls

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Feedback is very much appreciated, like, really really appreciated. Thanks for your time, hope you enjoyed x

The wind was loud in Dean’s ears, the sky grey above the cutting waves and the tang of salt was almost a welcome scent. The sun was beginning to rise, tinting the edge of the sky golden. Dean’s toes were curling into the sand, the sand moving and settling between his toes. The crashing of the waves was background noise as Dean stood there, jaw clenched as he stared out into the horizon, where the sky and the sea blended into one. 

Sam stormed out last night; bag in hand, intent on Stanford. “If you walk out that door, don’t bother coming back!” Dad had yelled, face red with rage as Sam slammed the motel door. Dean had stood there, motionless, unable to believe that Sam was gone. Dad drank himself unconscious that night, passed out on the couch. Dean couldn’t sleep without Sam’s warm presence in the next bed, the room uncharacteristically quiet without the sound of Sam’s raspy deep breathes as he slept. Dean did the only thing he knew how: drive.

He took the keys of the Impala with the reasoning that Dad probably won’t be needing them for the next while. The low rumble of the car’s engine was the only sound in the early morning, the headlights the only beacon in the all-consuming darkness of night. Dean gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white as tears stung his eyes. Sam was gone. Gone. He wasn’t coming back. The worst thing, though, was the way John looked at him after Sam slammed the door. The look of anger, of how could you let him do this?, but underneath it all, the look of disappointment hurt Dean more than anything else. He let Dad down. He couldn’t stop Sam from leaving. Could he even do anything right anymore? The more he thought about it, the more tears threatened to fall. They slid down his face, leaving trails that glistened in the light of the passing streetlamps shining overhead. Sobs began wracking his body, the tears blurring his eyes until he couldn’t see anymore. He took the next left, signposted for the beach.

The door of the Impala creaked shut, ruining the rush of the waves and the quietness of the early morning. Dean bent down; pulling apart the bow he tied his laces in, pulling them off and throwing them into the back of the car. The pebbles of the path leading down to the beach were rough and painful underneath Dean’s feet, but he almost welcomed the sting of the stones. It grounded him, stopped the sensation of floating away. Stopped Dean from wanting to float away.

He reached the beach, feet sinking in the sand. Dean walked along, stopped once or twice to roll the ends of his jeans up his legs so they weren’t trailing in the sand. Dean hated the beach. He hated the sand, how it gets everywhere. He hated swimming, ever since Dean was almost too late to pull Sam out from the dark water of the sea one time. Sammy had been six years old, and eager for a beach day. Dean indulged him, and regretted it deeply afterwards. He didn’t tell Dad how Sam got a cold, or why Sam couldn’t stop coughing. Dean hated the way the water was fluid, full of motion, free to do what it wanted. He hated how easy it was to sink under, how easy it was for your lungs to start burning. The burning of lungs and lack of oxygen seemed appealing right now.

The sky began lightening from ink black to a lighter purple. Dean stood, watching the sea. Maybe Sam was like the sea now. Maybe he was full of life, full of motion. Maybe he felt the relief Dean longed for. Maybe Sam was free.


End file.
